


A Rabid Dog

by TriDom



Series: Rabid Dog [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Headcanon, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 04:03:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3473744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriDom/pseuds/TriDom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Peter went to high school together. Chris was supposed to study him from a distance, learn about him, that was supposed to be it. Of course, it wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rabid Dog

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a post I saw that said this: JR’s theory on how Peter and Chris met: “Chris and Peter met as teenagers and bow chica wow wow and their parent’s didn’t want them together.” 
> 
> The other parts of the series I believe will follow cannon. I don't plan on updating it a ton, but I've really fallen in love with this pairing. All the pieces will be shorter.

Chris watches him across the classroom. Peter’s laugh is loud and brash on the poster-lined walls. The florescent lights color his face evenly, not even a hint of the acne that Chris’s own skin sprouts on his cheeks. He feels the uptick of his own heart and Peter looks over from where he was talking to his friend. He smiles. A smile only for him. Chris looks away as the lines up his back burn beneath his shirt.

_“Can you be infected by a scratch?”_

He hears Peter’s chair creak over the noise of the others as he stands. He doesn’t look up, but he sees Peter drag his fingertips over the top of an empty desk from the edge of his vision. The bell rings as he’s about to sit next to Chris. Chris is out of his chair before Peter can say anything. He acts like he can’t here Peter saying his name.

_“If the nails go deep enough. Why, son?”_

His backpack burns as he adjusts it on his shoulders. The footsteps of everyone around him are loud as the halls fill. He doesn’t know if it’s always this loud or if it’s new. Cold sweat pricks his skin as he takes the stairs two at a time. He chooses the hallways with the most students and loses himself before Peter can call him again.

Peter is a creature of habit. One Chris has studied for months. He is a step ahead of him for the rest of the day. He passes down a hallway as Peter steps into a classroom. Peter passes below him on the stairs. He eats his lunch in the courtyard Peter doesn’t like because of the high wind through the alleys.

In the end, it’s the parking lot where Peter waits him out, leaning against Chris’s truck in the empty student lot an hour after the last bell.

“Are you done avoiding me?” Peter says, half of his mouth lifted. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

Chris shrugs off his backpack and puts it into the back of his truck. He can smell the smoke and wood of Peter’s cologne. The one his own skin has smelled of for weeks.

“Chris,” Peter says, touching his shoulder from behind.

Chris turns around and takes his door handle. “Move. Please.”

Peter shoves the door closed again when Chris opens it a crack. “No.”

The smile is gone from his voice. It’s gone from his eyes. Chris imagines he can smell his anger. He can hear Peter's coarse voice against his ear in the empty chemistry lab.

_“I love the way you smell when you want me.”_

Chris drops his head forward so he won’t have to see in his eyes. Peter touches his neck, tilting up his chin with his thumb beneath. The rehearsed evenness in his mind falls as he looks in Peter’s face. He feels his own face start to fall as Peter backs him against the door of the truck and kisses his cheeks.

“What happened? What happened between last night and today?” Peter asks, quiet and harsh.

The wind is cold against Chris’s ears. The rest of his face is flushed with heat down to his neck. The pavement is cracked beneath his feet, flecked with white from the sloppy lines. He feels he could vomit.

“I can’t do this,” Chris says quietly. “Please, move.”

Peter’s hands are on his shoulders. “Chris.”

He is so close he can smell his breath. Everything his father and mother have trained into him is crumbling. The day before, the weeks before, it had been gone as he pushed his tongue into a mouth of fangs as Peter’s eyes changed to yellow that glowed in the dimness of his bedroom. There was a glint in them as Peter trailed his fingers over his cheek with a soft smile.

_“No one will believe me taking a hunter’s cherry.”_

Peter let him push his wrist to the bed, let him lace their fingers together.

_“Don’t treat me like a notch in your belt.”_

_“Don’t be so sensitive.”_

_“Peter.”_

Peter’s quiet laughter, the hardline of him against Chris’s bare hip.

_“Don’t pout. You know I love you.”_

Chris’s eyes burn as he stands opposite Peter with the coldness of the truck’s sheet metal against him. He prays the same prayer to something or someone he doesn’t know he believes in anymore, that he could be anyone else, that Peter could be anyone else. He can see himself sliding his palm against Peter’s hand and aligning their fingers after they made love.

He had meant to say the lines he constructed in his mind today. To deny every feeling. He can’t when he chokes back tears.

“You know I love you.”

“I know. We can work through anything else,” Peter says. “Chris, please.”

His father catching him in the kitchen last night and ripping up the back of his shirt while he was turned at the counter.

_“Have you ever seen a rabid dog, son?”_

As he dug his fingers into Peter’s scratches until the thin light scabs burned. Peter under him hours before, breathing into each other’s faces, his eyes flashing gold as his breathing came out harsher and his nails dragged softly into his skin.

_“I love you, Chris.”_

_“What is our code, son?”_

Chris’s eyes leak as his lips tremble and the wind grows colder. He feels snow catching on his skin and melting to water. Peter brushes his cheek against him, his nose against his neck.

“Don’t,” Peter says with his face pressed into his neck. “Don’t make me beg.”

Chris winds his hand into Peter’s soft dark hair. Chris’s sob is choked out and still loud in the gray air.

“I can’t do this,” he says broken as he kisses Peter’s forehead and neck.

They kiss. It’s messy with their air making fog. Peter kisses him like he is trying to pull him into himself. He lets himself be pulled closer and closer.

It’s the last time he touches Peter.

It’s the first time he feels like a monster as he sees Peter’s heart break. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd be stoked if you followed me on Tumblr. :) [Here](http://tridom.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you liked it, comments and kudos are always appreciated. <3


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